


The Kids Are All Fucked Up

by Disloyal_Order_Of_Water_Buffaloes



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Dont wanna spoil but death/suicide, Drug Abuse, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disloyal_Order_Of_Water_Buffaloes/pseuds/Disloyal_Order_Of_Water_Buffaloes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is fading<br/>I'm here with you<br/>If you start shaking<br/>I'll get you through it<br/>Don't worry about anything<br/>Just take it easy</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kids Are All Fucked Up

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary creds to The Kids Are All Fucked Up by CObra Starship. The song basically gave me the idea for this and I like making others cry with my writing, I guess. Oops. Aaaanyways please don't hate me

Gavin didn’t mean to start it. Well, he didn’t mean to be going back for _more_. But, the rush was something like after they pulled off a big, successful heist. But with a heist, stress, planning, and _lots_ of time preluded it. With drugs? He found out that he could get it with just the poke of a needle. That was much easier.

He was with a group of friend who were outside of the crew one night at a bar. He was about to call Geoff (and have him put Ryan on the phone if he’d been drinking) when they pulled him to the dark area near the side of the bar. Someone shoved a little baggie into his hand with a lighter and told him to try it -- he thought whoever it was said ‘heroin.’ He just shoved it in his pocket and tapped Geoff’s number.

* * *

The next day, he woke in the bed he and Michael shared in the penthouse. He stayed here often, but kept his apartment for nights he wanted to be alone, or have time alone with Michael or whatever reason. He had collected the money to be able to from heists, so why not? He managed it _kind_ of like an adult.

He still had his clothes from the previous night on, noticing his phone and wallet on the nightstand next to him. Feeling his pocket, he felt the small bag and sighed. He wasn’t sure at that point if he would _actually_ try it, but sure as hell didn’t want the crew to find out either way. Jack and Geoff really were like parents -- Jack would chew his ass out because she knows how dangerous it can be (it’s a miracle she even lets Ray smoke weed) and Geoff would monitor him for a while to make sure he wasn’t getting more.

After taking a shower he went out to find mostly everyone in the living room, chatting or playing video games. Except Jack, she was reading. Gavin just silently made himself something to eat without too many consequences from the night before. He didn't drink that much, really.

After eating the gang just hung out since Sundays were the days nothing got done crew-wise. It was quite relaxing honestly, since they were in the midst of planning a big heist. Geoff tried sneaking away a few times to work on it but was constantly blocked by Jack, who kept telling him to give his brain a break and to relax. “Fuckin’ easy for you to say. You’re not in charge of the damn thing,” he’d grumble and sit back down.

Once it was getting a bit later, he said he was going to go back to his apartment and talk to his family. They’d always assured him that he could there, but with family stuff he’d wanted it to be just him. Besides, no one picked up on the whole ‘time zone’ issue and let him go.

He told himself he’d only try a _little_ this _one time_. It’s not like once would get him addicted or anything, right? It couldn’t be that good to make him want to do it again, even. With how much sneaking around he’d have to do, it wouldn’t be worth it, surely.

He started out with just a little, and didn’t inject it. Gavin wasn’t sure if it was true, but he’d heard as a kid back in England that you can only _really_ get hooked on it if you inject. Instead he made it into a fine powder and snorted it. At first he didn’t feel too much different (besides snorting a foreign substance into his body) but within 15 minutes he found himself laying on the couch feeling more cozier and comfortably numb than ever.

He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d fallen asleep during it, but even in his sleep he didn’t think he could ever feel any better. He forgot about all of his worries and stressors for the time being. It was the best sleep he’d had in while.

Then he woke up, crashing into the god-awful world he really lived in. Tired, cold, and sweating he found his phone on the table in the kitchen from last night. the time said 11:30 AM and he had quite a few text messages from various crew members. They were all among the same lines: You awake yet? When you get here Geoff has new ideas for the heist. Geoff wants you over asap.

He texted one back saying he’d be over soon. He quickly showered so that he could get the sweat-smell off of him and tried restoring some color to his face, which he failed to do. Shrugging and pulling on a hoodie, Gavin was on his way to the penthouse.

Sure, he was questioned why he was so pale and sweating a bit, but he passed that off as if he was just getting sick.

* * *

Eventually he saw that friend again and got a little more to last longer. Gavin decided just to save it for when he really needed to get away from the world in general and needed a break from life. He got a few syringes, too, to try injecting it (because, really, he’d rather not snort it again and sure as hell didn’t want to smoke it). Honestly, he tried injecting it the night he got it, and it felt like he’d been hit by a truck. The feeling wasn’t as strong as his first time, but it was close enough for him not to care or notice.

That bit didn’t last too long.

Not even two weeks later he was craving the drug daily. He’d stay at the penthouse like usual (hiding it in his and Michael’s room in some of his things) and wake up before everyone else, taking some in secret and pulling a hoodie on before going out to make breakfast. Gavin would even go as far to avoid bumping into the others in the penthouse, in case they’d notice he was losing some weight. It wasn’t dramatic yet or anything, but he was getting pretty paranoid about the others finding out.

The rational part of his brain told him that they wouldn’t be mad, necessarily, but want to help him. Yet he needed the daily morning and nighttime dose to feel right, to function what he thought was normally. Withdrawal was a concern too, even though he knew it’d be better now than later. It was too scary to think about, so everything was hidden and not spoke of.

The rest of the group did, however, notice some changes. They thought it might be depression, due to his lack of eating a lot of the time and they’d all notice his personal hygiene had gotten particularly worse and the only time he put products in his hair so it at least looks nice is when they’re going out for a long period of time or a heist. There was also the fact that he was sleeping way more than usual and wasn’t the goofy and ridiculous guy they knew, but easily irritated and often angry.

Geoff tried talking to him first.

“Listen, Bud, we’ve noticed some, uh, changes.” Gavin looked up from his laptop screen at the older. “Like, uh, have you felt any different lately?”

“I’m fine, Geoff,” he rolled his eyes and went back to whatever he was doing.

“You know you can always talk to us and everything, and if you need to I know a guy who keeps secret about things but is a really good therapist--”

Gavin looked up and him again. “I don’t need a therapist. I’m not bloody depressed or anything, okay?” He stood up with a rising voice and walked away. Geoff just put his head in his hands as Jack peeked around the corner.

She decided that she was next, considering she was the most nurturing and easy to talk to person in the crew. A few days later she’d cornered him in his own room and Gavin just sat on the bed with his arms folded across his chest. She didn’t even get a word in before he spat, “I’m fine, okay? Just leave me alone, I don’t need a damn therapist! _I’m fine_ ,” and left to the bathroom.

Jack decided that he wouldn’t open up anytime soon and just left him alone like he wanted to be.

* * *

 

Michael appointed himself last once nearly everyone else tried in the span of a few months. One night before Gavin was going to go to bed at the younger’s apartment ( _still_ in that stupid hoodie; the kid never wore anything but long sleeve shirts and hoodies) Michael stopped him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He stared at Gavin.

“Nothing…?” he gave the other a weary look, “why?”

“It’s not ‘ _nothing_ ,' I can tell. If you’re depressed or something it’s oka--”

“I’m not depressed! Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because you’re a fucking mess. When was the last time you showered before Jack started reminding you to? When did you have actual _good_ and _healthy_ meals multiple times a day? Why the hell are your clothes barely fitting you? I know that you puke way more than you normally should, then you try to hide it!” Michael snapped and had to bring his voice back down again. “We have a right to be worried, especially since I’m your boyfriend. You can tell me anything.”

“I know…” he murmured and looked down.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Michael lifted Gavin’s head in his own hands.

“Just, stress… really,” he shrugged. “Family stuff you know? I’m not gonna be able to visit them anytime soon and family drama and stuff.”

He hated how the lie rolled off his tongue. He hated how easy it was and how he needed to. Even if he really truly wanted to quit, how do you tell your boyfriend and best friends you’ve been on drugs for the past few months?

“Fine,” Michael sighed, accepting the lie. It made him uneasy, and Gavin could tell, but stayed quiet while his eyes watered for completely different reasons than anyone knew. “Christ, it’s summer, take your hoodie off. You’re gonna die or something.”

“No, no,” Gavin pulled away when Michael tugged at the zipper. “I’m fine, really.”

Michael’s expression changed from worried to upset. “Why? Fucking why, Gavin? What that big of a deal that you have to wear a sweatshirt year-round to hide? I just want to help you!”

“Stop yelling, the neighbors are probably sleeping,” Gavin pleaded and stood up, nervously grabbing the ends of his hoodie.

“Why the fuck would I care? You’re not okay, clearly, and you’re worried about the _neighbors_?”

“Michael, just--” Gavin put his head in his hands before realizing how upset he’d actually been getting. “You know what, if I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t have to! You can’t make me, quite honestly, and why can’t you just accept that if I needed help, _I’d fucking ask for it_. I have a supportive family-relationship with everyone at the penthouse, you don’t think I’d be comfortable asking someone for help?” He stomped closer to Michael before they were inches away and both fuming. “And I swear to _God_ if you ask me one more time--”

He got cut off as Michael pushed him back onto the bed and pinned him down while rolling a sleeve of the hoodie up, despite Gavin’s kicking and shouting “Get off me, you damn fool!”

“Gav…” Michael said quietly as he saw what the younger had been trying to hide all along. Insanely flushed skin in the crook of his elbow and wrist with too-many-to-count little signs of being poked with some sort of needle. “Where the fuck is it? Where are the drugs?” He stood up and demanded.

“I don’t--”

“I wasn’t born fucking yesterday. _Where are they_?”

Gavin set up on the bed and rubbed where Michael had grabbed his wrist silently. With a grumble of “fucking fine, I’ll find them myself,” his boyfriend was off to the bathroom, always keeping the younger in sight.

Then he searched the bedroom (Gavin hadn’t moved an inch except to itch his arms and squirm nervously. Within half an hour Michael had found all the syringes Gavin had in his nightstand and the drugs he’d kept hidden in the small kitchen. Gavin just stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “Is there any more?” Michael glanced at him. When Gavin didn’t answer Michael asked louder “Do you have any more smack or is that it?”

Seeing he was clearly irritated, Gavin murmured out a no. “Good,” he muttered and pulled his phone out.

“No! Don’t call Geoff, please don’t.”

“Why? You afraid to get your ass chewed out for not telling us you’re on something that could’ve killed you any day?” Gavin looked at the floor. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Someone’s gonna come sit with you while I get rid of everything.”

“You can’t just _get rid_ of it!”

“Yeah? Fucking watch me. I’ll go burn it right outside your window if you’d like to watch.”

With that he left Gavin alone in the kitchen to call whoever and appeared five minutes later when the door opened. “I’ll be back,” he said to Ryan. It had to be Ryan, who'd only keep the silence and makes Gavin's anxiety about the situation worse.

Gavin had been sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands for a while, and thankfully Ryan never attempted actual conversation that required more than a grunt to recognize he said something. He just sat across from the younger, occasionally looking up from his phone.

“Are you mad?” Gavin finally managed to ask, anxiety about the guys and Jack finding out why he’s been weird for the past months dominating his brain.

“Not mad,” Ryan told him from where he’d moved to to double-check that Michael hadn’t missed anything. “Just… surprised, I guess.” Gavin put his head down again and sighed. “Y’know, you’re gonna be lucky if Michael doesn’t, like, track down your dealer or something and kill him. He’s fucking _protective_. How’d you even get it in the first place?”

Gavin shrugged. “At a bar one night with some friends, y’know. One gave me some and said to try it, so I did, and before I could help it I started depending on it.”

With a “hm” they went back to silence. What felt like hours (really, it was half an hour) and Michael came back to the apartment, the sun barely rising.

“Gav, get some sleep, okay? You look fucking dead,” Ryan stood him from the chair.

 _Maybe it’s because I was a heroin addict for months?_ he thought to himself but trudged to his room to sleep a little.

* * *

 

When he woke up, the whole crew was there and he was sweating, his muscles in his arms and legs hurt like hell, and he was nauseous. “Guys, shh, he’s up,” he heard someone hiss.

“Hey, Bud, how’re you feeling?” Jack asked in a comforting voice.

“Like shit. I know it doesn’t even get that bad until, like, a day after or something. Shit, I’m in trouble.” Ridding his face of some sweat, he groaned. “What time is it?”

“Like, 2 in the afternoon,” Ray answered.

“So, anyway, we’ve been talking,” Geoff carefully started, “and we think it’d be best if you lived at the penthouse full-time. Like, obviously after you get a bit better and stuff, but that way we’re always there when you need us.”

“You mean get rid of this apartment?”

“In a way…”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t fucking trust you anymore,” Michael impulsively spat.

“Leave the room,” Jack ordered. “ _Out_ ,” she growled seeing his look of protest.

Hours of sweating and nausea and whatever else later, the group decided to only let one person stay with him at a time to reduce stress or whatever else. Jack stayed first (they all agreed she was the most comforting to get him through the first day or so). The next day he wanted Jack to stay just one more day knowing that if it got really bad and he insisted he needed to take it again she could surely distract him and talk him out of it.

Parts of it kinda felt like the flu, which he didn’t think was too bad considering what could happen. That was until the second night when he ran out of the room nearly sobbing and puking once he got to the bathroom. He wasn’t sure why he'd been crying so bad -- sure, he felt super fucking depressed and whatever, but he’d never been this bad.

Jack followed him every step of the way, reminding him to breathe when he could, telling him that he would be okay and this wouldn’t be too much longer. He’d be okay soon.

The thing was that Gavin tried to look into his future, but honestly couldn’t see a good ending. He couldn’t see himself living through this and being okay and not wanting to shoot up again. He didn’t believe it would happen. There's no way to think that way when you're curled over a toilet trying to puke away things that aren't in your stomach.

* * *

The next morning when he woke up Michael was sitting in the bed with him, combing a hand through the blond’s hair. “Hey,” he greeted softly as Gavin rubbed his eyes. “Jack said you had a fever last night and were puking pretty bad.”

Gavin just nodded, noticing Jack had left a big cooking type of bowl for him (probably from her part of the penthouse). “Listen, I’m sorry I kinda freaked out on you. I just--” He sighed and Gavin looked at him through sleepy eyes, “--I was fucking scared. Like what if I’d lost you or something y’know? And I feel even worse making you go cold turkey, but the guys thought it’d be best or whatever. Like, to not let you get any more. Shit, I’m just sorry. You can be mad at me or whatever, but I just want you to know I love you and I was just trying to help in whatever way I thought of right then.”

Gavin smiled weakly and hugged Michael, burying his head into the older’s chest for a few minutes before rushing to the bathroom to puke again. Michael sat with him the whole time rubbing circles into his back and helping him back to the bed once he was okay enough, wiping the tears from his face from the random crying spells he’d been getting.

* * *

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Michael asked Gavin for the hundredth time that evening.

“Yeah, you guys’ll only be gone for a couple hours. I’ll be good.”

“Okay,” Michael said, slipping his shoes on to go to the store real quick to grab some energy drinks and other late-night snacks for the two that were home alone. The other two couples were out on dates, and Michael promised Gavin he’d take him on one once he was feeling a ton better. Gavin said he was fine now, but Michael wasn’t taking chances for Gavin to feel like shit in public, let alone on a date. That was the real reason they both weren't occupied on a different activity by now.

Once Michael left and Gavin was sure he was gone he went to the bathroom off of their room. Checking behind the mirror that lifted just a little if you pushed it just right, he saw that a little baggie of drugs was still hidden. The crew hadn’t found it yet.

Gavin knew he shouldn’t. He knew he’d been getting so much better lately and everyone was so proud of him and how much they’d been helping him, but he couldn’t resist it. He’d found syringes after a minute of looking, too. They group probably tore the whole place apart looking for things, but these were places he only knew about.

An unlaced shoe and a burnt spoon later, he was getting one last high.

* * *

“Gav, I wasn’t sure what to get so--” Michael called and set a few bags down on the counter. “Gavin?” he called out once he was there was no one in the living room. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he hissed and sprinted into their room, stopping dead in his tracks once he got to the bathroom door.

He couldn’t have. They’d emptied the place top to bottom.

Yet there was still a syringe laying next to him and a shoelace wrapped tight around his arm.

“Gav, no,” He barely whispered and kneeled down to grab him. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t be dead. “Gav, p-please wake up. Wake up bud, wake _up_. Gavin, please,” he said pointlessly with tears already running down his face.

Keeping Gavin in one arm, he pulled out his phone and hit one of the guys’ or Jack’s contacts. After a couple rings Geoff picked up. “Michael?”

“Geoff, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he sobbed into the phone.

“Michael, what’s going on?”

“I-It’s Gav. I left him alone for a few minutes to go to the store and he -- he’s gone Geoff. Fuck, it’s all my fault.”

“How did he even get anything? Shit, alright, we’ll be there soon.”

With that the phone went dead and Michael clung to Gavin.

“I’m so sorry, Gav. I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

 


End file.
